


All bark and no bite

by OrphanText



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-06 17:59:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1867191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrphanText/pseuds/OrphanText
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I suppose there is appeal to watching women tuck a flesh coloured, tube shaped support between their breasts for night time support,” Crowley says, and Bobby’s face heats up, the skin tingling, and for a moment he wonders what he looked like in his state, half naked, red as a lobster.</p><p>In which Crowley promises, and never delivers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt:
> 
> Crowley crawls into Bobby's bed intending to be a cocktease, but Bobby has Crowley caught in a devil's trap and proceed to have his wicked way with a depowered Crowley. Dub-con with Bobby restraining and collaring Crowley without asking for permission, but Crowley enjoys it.
> 
> Un-betaed, if anyone wants to offer to help I'll be happy.
> 
> Basically also me practising how to write sex.
> 
> There's no telling how long I'll take or even get around to the prompt bit but I'll try (that's why its practise).

With the huntings, the Winchester boys, the ins and outs of his business and the running around to keep everything together, Bobby barely had enough time to himself. Sure, he had snatched moments of rest here and there in between, dry, blessed days where nothing happens, but still, it takes time for a man to settle into it without constantly checking for bad rumours from the mill, or simply sitting around and finding himself waiting for a dreaded phone call or a knock on the door.

 

With all the people constantly moving in and out of his life at an alarming frequency, Bobby had learned to take it all in stride, often ready to go tackle trouble head on at a moment’s notice. Which was why he appreciated quiet days all the more, when no one needed him, and the house was his alone, once again space that was his to do with. With space came privacy, which brought him to the next point:

 

Bobby Singer was human.

 

That was a fact. Nothing to shout about, in fact, or a matter of concern, but the whole point was that Bobby was human, and he had human desires, and needs that needed tending to. Things that should be done in privacy, behind closed doors and not mentioned in polite company and all of those little little rules about society that are never mentioned but done. And he was doing it, and all was well and usually forgotten in the rush and the adrenaline and most of all worry at work.

 

Which was exactly why he was sitting in front of the telly with a magazine in his lap, an opened tube of ky jelly to the side with his cock in hand when Crowley showed up.

 

“Go for that, do you?” He’s barely registered the demon’s presence, but it has him scrabbling for his gun, magazine spilling over onto the floor, fingers still slick with lubricant.

 

“Stand down, soldier,” Crowley sounds amused, leaning casually against a doorframe, eyes scanning the room, almost lazy, before his gaze settles on Bobby. The smirk he wears rankles Bobby, and he was proud to note that the hand holding the gun was perfectly still. Despite of the fact that he was naked from the waist down. Despite of the fact that he was still sporting an erection. Mostly the latter.

 

“What d’you want?” He bites out, and the demon lifts a shoulder in a shrug, and lifts one foot to step into the room. The sound of the gun cocking has him pause, and he lifts both hands palms up, and puts the foot down again, eyeing the barrel of Bobby’s gun calculatively.

 

“Must I always want something from you?” Crowley says, and he pretends to look alarmed, when Bobby makes a sharp warning gesture with the gun, placating for a second, before the same, familiar, hateful grin spreads like oil over his lips again.

 

“Demons don’t change their nature,” Bobby growls. Behind him, pre-recorded laughter from the programme pealing out into the house that he finds is suddenly by far too quiet. “It’s what you are. Next you’ll be convincing me that you want to start a charity.”

 

“Nothing so drastic,” Crowley tilts his head, and Bobby feels as though the demon is trying to read him, before the dark eyes slide over to the tv screen behind him. “So. Infomercials and swimsuit models? Bobby?”

 

“This is my house,” Bobby tries to fight the hot flush that was rising in his neck and cheeks, glaring daggers at the demon’s questioning brows. “And you’re intruding, if you haven’t noticed. Now get out, before I blow a hole in you where it hurts.”

 

“Always know how to sweet talk a man, Bobby. Demon,” Crowley amended after a second, eyes still on the telly, before his expression twisted into one of polite disgust. “But, really. Infomercials.”

 

Bobby did not realise that he had pulled the trigger, not until the shot rang out, and the demon staggered back with a new hole in his suit, a hand pressed over where Bobby had shot him in the side.

 

“I suppose I should apologise.” Crowley murmurs, getting to his feet once more, cautiously brushing himself off. “For ruining your evening with Kush.”

 

“Kush.”

 

“I suppose there is appeal to watching women tuck a flesh coloured, tube shaped support between their breasts for night time support,” Crowley says, and Bobby’s face heats up, the skin tingling, and for a moment he wonders what he looked like in his state, half naked, red as a lobster. He hadn’t been paying attention to what was on the telly, so long as there was noise, not wanting to listen to the slick sounds of him trying to jack himself off over glossy spreads of swimsuit models. The news was too morose, and everything else too distracting. The infomercials had been tolerable, and was completely fine for the task, especially when he did not plan to be caught masturbating.

 

“Allow me to make it up to you.” Crowley was suddenly a few steps closer than before, and he brings his gun up—an empty threatening gesture, of course. The both of them know that it wouldn’t kill Crowley, but he felt better for it, nevertheless. “Please.”

 

“What, I put a bullet in you, and you offer to—what, suck me off? Is that it? Is that what you’re proposing?” Bobby laughed, a touch disbelieving, but trails off when he sees the hungry look Crowley gives him. “No.”

 

“Yes,” Crowley corrects for him, and his voice was deeper, rougher, and there was no mistaking the lust in his eyes.

 

“And I’ll just let you?” Bobby was aware of how hoarse he sounded, and covered it up with bravado and empty threats, wanting, needing control in his hands.

 

“Let me?” The pink tip of the demon’s tongue flicks out to wet his lips, and Bobby finds himself staring. “No, you’re going to _want_ me to do it.”

 

“That’s- “

 

“We could do it your way. Or we could do it my way. Either is fine, but the ending, that remains the same.” Crowley cuts in before Bobby could speak, eyes firmly on his. “And you want it, don’t you? Look at you, hard and straining. You’re nearly leaking, love. It has been long, hasn’t it? You long for relief, a kind of relief that you’ve been seeking for the past half hour, and it drives you further up the wall, aching with no end in sight.”

 

“Now, if I were to touch you, wrap my hands around your cock, and just stroke you, once, firmly, from the root to the tip, you wouldn’t come, would you? No, not when you have been frantically fucking your own fist to the sound of cheap television. But I would want to feel the heat of your skin, the slick sticky-ness of your cock slathered in lubricant and pre-cum. I want to feel the weight of you, thick and heavy in my hands, learn, with the tips of my fingers, where you are most sensitive. Tease you, just as I learn you. Would you like that, Bobby? Open. Vulnerable, with your cock warm in my hand. The basest of human desire. Perhaps, you think I talk too much. Something else, then. To occupy my tongue and lips, to silence me so you would have a break from all this talking.”

 

“So, me, down on my knees, hard against the floor, lips brushing against the base of your cock, kissing, until you feel my tongue on you, a hot stripe from the bottom to the tip, tracing patterns into your skin, lapping up the taste of you, dipping into the slit where you are most sensitive, my tongue hot and wet. You would like that, won’t you? And if I were to wrap my lips around your thick shaft, you wouldn’t stop me, would you? I’ll be right where you want me to be, on my knees between your legs, mouth filled with your cock, the taste of your bitter precum on my tongue and hungering for more. Enticing, isn’t it? You’re close to coming, aren’t you? That if I just suck, you would lose whatever fragile grip that you have on your control to simply fuck me in the mouth, won’t you? And I would let you, as deep as you could go, yours for the taking, yours to do with as you please- “

 

The ringing phone was like a bucketful of icy water in the face, and the both of them startled, having not expected it, though Crowley recovered fairly quickly from it. While the demon dug for his cellphone, Bobby shakily lifted the gun once more from where it had been resting in his lap, one hand clenched against his groin, pressing down tight. As Crowley had been talking, he had been drawn easily into the spell of his voice, not noticing when his guard had slipped, his mouth slack as his mind filled with images and the phantom touches of what Crowley’s voice and words promised.

 

“The- “ He rasped, and Crowley held up a phone.

 

“Apologies. As always, work calls,” the demon didn’t seem out of breath - not like he was, mouth dry - and completely unruffled, and Bobby decided that he hated him after all, acting like it was all nothing to him. “You’re back on track, so finishing shouldn’t be a problem.” And there it was again, the hunger in the demon’s eyes, poorly concealed behind the veneer of calm. “And, just for the record, you’re welcome to put a bullet into me anytime, love.”

 

Before Bobby could kick his brain into an angry retort, the demon winked, and simply wasn’t there anymore. The hunter sat, stunned, for a few seconds, before he heaved himself up on shaky legs, turning off the telly and stumbling into the bathroom.

 

Crowley was right, it didn’t take too long to bring himself off, braced against the cold ceramic tiles of his bathroom as he shuddered into his own hand, spilling onto the bathroom floor. He leaned against the wall for support, panting, then reached for the shower.

 

Perhaps he could wash the phantom touches that the demon’s words had left on him, gentle, lingering touches that promised more, that played into his desires buried so deep he wouldn’t have admitted to having them at all, into ones that he didn’t know he had.

  
Trust the smarmy bastard to dig it all up, he cursed, and scrubbed harder.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine there'll be 3 chapters to this because I don't know how long I can hold onto this for. Not much sex here, unfortunately. (Trying to finish this before I leave the country)
> 
> I find myself wanting to write a Crowley that explores his businessman (more relatable human ish stuff) vs the demon stuff and how he can bounce from opulence to dirt poor crap because he wasn't born into opulence and elegance. Except I know nothing about everything.
> 
> Un-betaed, as usual.

They weren’t friends.

 

It was a ridiculous notion. Hunters and demons simply did not mix, much less a seasoned hunter like Bobby, who should have known better than to allow his cock to make any such important decisions for him. In theory, anyway.

 

Demons lied. Crowley did - lying by omission, at least. And he was by far the worse of them all, with a well-honed ability to worm his way through anyone’s defences, to sweet talk his way around any traps, pressing ideas and proposals upon people that they would have accepted long before they realised that they did, playing right into the spider’s web. Neat and clean enough that Bobby would have grudgingly respected him if he weren’t in the business of torture and souls.

 

Which should have had all the warning lights flare up like a christmas tree in Bobby’s head the moment they ended up in this little arrangement of theirs, especially when the hunter could see no end game or goal in sight that the demon was planning. Had to be planning, because anything else was beyond comprehension.

 

And what was he supposed to call their association together? That a demon kept sneaking into his house to talk him into coming in his pants like a bloody sodding hormonal teenage boy without even a single touch? Bobby was by far too old for this shite, and yet it has happened, is happening, will happen. Fuck buddies? “Friends” with benefits? Not that they were getting all chummy over each other, mind, not when Crowley had been sent out the door with a good few rounds of rock salt the last time he had dropped by right after the Shower Incident.

 

The King of Hell had fairly good taste. That much was clear in the cut and line of his no doubt bespoke tailored suits, in the carefully chosen scent that he had chosen to wear that underlies sulphur, in the demeanor that he had cloaked himself with, drawn carefully around him like a victorian lady’s skirts. Every little outward aspect was chosen with deliberate care and attention, although never quite as naturally as a man (demon) born into it than learned in the later parts of his life.

 

A man (demon) who put this much thought into grooming his personal image would have been smart enough to not neglect the other aspects of his life, not that demons had any, mind. Crowley was meticulous in his plans, only buying in when there was something to gain, and nothing to lose. It was clean cut for the devil—go big, or go home. The stakes were higher, but it came with the job, or so he said, once, accompanied by the stench of alcohol, managing to grope at Bobby’s face when he had stumbled, and Bobby had instinctively tried to catch hold of him just so he wouldn’t tip into the fireplace in case he went up like a case of gasoline what with all that he had been drinking.

 

He would never have started anything without a plan in mind, which was why it was all the more important that Bobby figured out the end game before they arrived within a few hundred miles of it and everything goes tits up as it was wont to do.

 

It wasn’t always about sex, or what little resemblance to sex it was. In between all that, there was the occasional drinking, and even more rarely, talking. Actual conversations, instead of the usual back and forth exchange of sarcasm and grade school insults the both of them should have known better than to descend to. Whenever up for it, Crowley had proved himself to be quite the interesting conversation partner, and what was Bobby to say to that? It was refreshing, even if one was having proper, polite conversation with a demon. Years of skulking around as a demon apparently meant that Crowley was rather well versed in numerous, broad topics, and in fact very up to date with events around the world. Knowledge was power, he at least understood that much.

 

It could also mean that perhaps Bobby should have went out to make new conversation friends on the park bench instead of talking with his fundamentally evil but brilliantly witty not-stranger.

 

And then, there had been the Shower Incident, which was probably why he was sitting here, not-reading the book in his hands but making a pros/cons list in his head.

 

His property was laden with traps and devices meant to cause injury, grievous harm and death to his kind, and yet, Crowley had no qualms whatsoever waltzing right into whichever space he wanted to, skirting around the devil’s traps that he had planted around the house as extra security measures. Load of good they did, but points for effort.

 

Still, it had been the first time that the demon had ever ventured so close, stepping right into personal space behind him in the bathroom when he usually stuck to the more open, impersonal spaces of his house. He had yelled, when he had stepped back for the shampoo and instead found a very solid chest, and expensive cloth that didn’t seem to be affected by water from the shower spray at all, and then again when he realized that the bloody demon was wearing shoes into his bathroom.

 

He hadn’t protested too much when the arms had come around him. It had been a relatively dry period when Crowley didn’t so much as chirped in his general direction for a month whereas he had been visiting at least once per week previously, and it had been oddly relieving to know that he was still around.

 

Crowley had offered to wash his hair, after the initial customary ritual of exchanging barbs, when all Bobby wanted to do was to be done with his shower and then get out. Not that the demon could reach him at all, which was obvious.

 

“Seems unfair that you’re standing there enjoying a free show in your suit while I’m bare as the day I was born,” he said, gruffly, when half-hearted efforts did not drive the demon out, including a spray of cold water directly at him.

 

“I don’t put out so quickly, sweetheart,” Crowley had sounded smug.

 

And had remained smug even when he was on his knees before Bobby.

 

“Is there nothing that I can do to shut you up?” Bobby had growled, hands pressed flat against the cool ceramic tiles at his back, and Crowley had paused in his words, and tilted his head back to look at him, the closest that he has ever come to physically touching Bobby.

 

Crowley had smiled, then leaned in, to Bobby’s alarm and sudden hike in anticipation of lips, that maybe this time he would get what he need, only for Crowley to huff against his skin in amusement, and then that was all it took to get him off.

 

“Apologies for the disappointment,” Crowley had murmured, hot breath against his groin, looking like a cat with a paw in a bowl of cream, somehow spotless and free of cum despite of his close proximity to Bobby’s cock. “Keeps the boys coming, and all that. Pun unintended.”

 

And then he was gone, leaving Bobby with jelly legs and a shower that was just beginning to get cold.

 

Fuck demons, really.

  
And now wasn’t that an idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crash and burn.  
> There's also something really really awful that maybe I'll confess at the end of this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A break felt natural at this point. I'll try to finish the second half of this chapter since I'm flying off in the morning the day after.
> 
> Unbeta-ed, if anyone wants to help, whistle.

After that, it had been mostly quiet around the house. Crowley’s “surprise” visits dropped drastically. Physically, Bobby was unbothered, but traces of the demon were all over his dreams, which probably had nothing to do with Crowley himself and which pissed him off all the more in the mornings when he hobbled into the bathroom to relieve himself. Busy killing off his little traitors and fussing about Hell, no doubt. Bobby could care less, except that he was caring a great deal, but since no one was around to judge him on that, he decided that he need not be so harsh on himself. He sure isn’t getting any younger in his years, and a man his age has to leave some leeway for some vices. It wasn’t as though he was making a deal, after all. Just a little arrangement that benefits the both of them, occasionally.

 

And then, there are times when he applauds himself for his own cunning, especially when he’s watching the smug expression slide off Crowley’s face to be replaced by a more wary look, still shrouded in the slightly sweet smoke of burning herbs, and something that reminded Bobby of dust on a hot lightbulb.

 

“Missed me that much, did you darling?” The demon murmured, eyes narrowing.

 

Points to you, Bobby Singer, he thought to himself, uncharacteristically gleeful, stemming the flow of blood from his arm where he had cut himself for the ritual with a hand towel.

 

Crowley simply stood there, a glass of whisky in his hand and a bored expression carefully fixed on his face, as though he wasn’t bothered at all by the devil’s trap that had been reflected down upon him, constructed with nothing but light and shadow, but still highly effective. The tense lines of his shoulders betrayed him, however, as did the careful blinking, irritation in the tightness around his eyes, and Bobby wasn’t sure what it said about him that he could now read Crowley so well.

 

“So. What’s the special occasion?” Crowley took a long sip of the whisky. “Lover boy? Gonna stand there and appreciate my fine arse all day? Granted, I do have a fine arse.” He smoothed his free hand down the front of his suit, as though self congratulatory on finding a good specimen of a meatsuit. “The King of Hell doesn’t have all day.”

 

“Maybe I might’ve missed you some,” Bobby said carefully, leaning a hip against the table. “Noticed you haven’t been dropping in lately.”

 

“Yes. Well. Consider that I play quite the important role in Hell keeping all the working bits in order—you’re welcome, by the way—has it ever occurred to you that maybe I have something more important than fraternizing with the enemy to do?” Crowley didn’t prowl the parameters of the devil’s trap, knowing that it would only serve to highlight his current situation, preferring to stand still, a polite smile on his face. The sort that Bobby’s seen on the face of door to door salesmen, usually when you’re trying to close the door on their foot. And because what the demon did best was talking, Bobby leaned back, and remained silent.

 

Crowley didn’t disappoint.

 

“By a wild shot in the dark, might this have anything to do with our previous sexual encounters?” The demon started up again after a minute of silence from Bobby.

 

“Maybe,” the hunter shrugged noncommittally, and took a swig of rotgut that Crowley did so hate from his own glass on the table.

 

“Really, Bobby. Really. I get it, you know. The whole getting old thing and your life prospect seems long and lonely with no one but Tall and Short to keep you company on odd days and not the happy kind either. It doesn’t mean you should ring up little ol’ me for a booty call. I’m flattered, I am. But no, thank you, though I must admit that it has been fun, and that you have been quite the interesting, although somewhat pathetic, study.”

 

“And here I thought you had something for me,” Bobby allowed himself to sound accusatory, pushing off the table.

 

“Please, Bobby. Allow me to be honest. You’re old. And with those looks, you’re really not quite cutting it for me. Quite afraid you’ll have to look for your lays elsewhere, seeing as I am not available for hire. I’m the King of Hell, not a cheap whore that you call upon whenever you feel the need to fornicate. Those things?” Crowley gestured with a sharp gesture between the both of them, watching Bobby stalk closer, and drew himself to stand taller. “Us? Those were jokes. Funny while it lasted. You’ve had yours, I’ve had mine, watching you brought down to a shaking quivering mess like a dog by a demon’s words was rather amusing. Still. Would you prefer it if I gave you twenty for the streets? Come now, hunter, demon, anything about that which isn’t suspicious? Surely your brain cells haven’t been flushed down the drain?”

 

Oddly, perhaps due to long association with the demon and his flighty temper, Bobby wasn’t at all concerned with the arrogant and haughty posture that the other had now adopted, hand in a pocket and gazing at him as though he was trying to sell Crowley a vacuum machine.  Instead, he simply grunted neither in affirmation or denial, knowing it would vex the demon.

 

“I would be happy to make you a deal, though. The same old, a pretty girl for your soul. What do you think?” Crowley offered, as Bobby stared him down, standing just on the perimeters of the outer circle. “Unless you prefer boys. I can give you that. Sweet young things if you like them that way, pliable and dying to please. Bit tasteless, though.”

 

“What if I don’t want a deal?”

 

“Then I have better things to do than to stay here in this rotten, rundown excuse of a house playing the domestic with you because you are dying for a fuck!” Crowley’s shout was sudden and unexpected, just as Bobby swung at him, throwing him off balance, and in that moment when Crowley was distracted and lunging at him, snapped the metal collar around the demon’s neck.

 

The silence that followed after was deafening, and Bobby took the precious few seconds while Crowley was too shocked to react to lock the handcuffs around both his wrists as well.

 

“Well,” Crowley starts, but stops short, as though at a loss for words, whisky glass having smashed on the floor during their very short tussle.

 

“Keep your twenty bucks,” Bobby smirked.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY I AM DONE  
> Everything was written in 1AM-3AM so i'm mostly dead and also hit with jet lag and NOW I SHALL SLEEP I haven't gotten in a few good hours at all.  
> Un-betaed, this chapter was written with the help of ice_evanesco when I started forgetting words in my lack of sleep. :'c
> 
> Hope its satisfactory!
> 
> Warnings for dub-con, non-con, which might be triggering for some.

“How gracious,” Crowley says as Bobby shoves him down onto the bed, where the demon bounced once, before settling, dark fabric against the machine worn sheets of his bed, still crumpled from where he didn’t quite bother to make it in the morning. “A bed for me. And here I thought you were going to just get a quick fuck out of me there and then. Kind of, like a dog.”

Bobby ignored Crowley’s obvious attempts at riling him, instead hooking the chains of his collar and cuffs up onto the metal hook at the top of his bed, pulling the demon’s arms up over his head. With the short length of give, he didn’t need to worry about Crowley suddenly headbutting him or surprising him with any disposable weapons or furniture.

“What, no gags to complete the picture?” Crowley sneered, dark hair mussed against the greying pillows. “I have a handbook to help if you’re into this sort of thing.”

Bobby snorted, moving down to remove the demon’s well polished shoes from his feet, dropping each one with a loud clunk upon the floor as he pulled them off. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Look, Singer, what about this in your delirious and sex-addled mind is a good idea? Stop and think, I know you’re listening.” Crowley continued, having never stopped alternating between insulting Bobby or trying to wheedle his way out of the situation. “Look, I can give you anyone you want. No strings attached. If its just sex you’re looking for, there are lots of people or demons who can please you. This is the stupidest idea I’ve ever had the misfortune to know, in fact."

"Keep talking," Bobby said gruffly, pulling off Crowley's socks and dropping them to the floor before he started work on the demon's belt. "Soon you might learn that that tongue of yours ain't gonna get you out of this one."

"I am not having sex with you!" Crowley snapped angrily as his belt was pulled out from around his waist.

"Then maybe you should have thought of that before promising things that you have no intention on following up on. Bad business strategy all round." Bobby chuckled, and then allowed himself a callous grope between Crowley's legs, palm pressing flat against the hardness he found there, still trapped in his underwear and trousers. Crowley hissed. "Seems like a part of you is still capable of being honest."

"Its... Its biology," Crowley said testily, hands twisting in their binds.

"Sure," Bobby patted Crowley's thigh, and earned himself a glare from him. 

"Just my luck to be fucked by an aging, drunk excuse of a hunter. Do you think they have awards for that? A medal maybe? My bedroom wall was getting kind of bare." Crowley lay back to glare at the ceiling, but Bobby didn't miss the twitch as he untucked the demon's shirt, rucking up his clothes to get them out of the way.

"You think so? Aging, drunk excuse of a hunter?" Bobby slipped a hand beneath Crowley's shirt, the demon's skin warm, coarse hair rough beneath his fingers. "You are really something, princess. Telling me this when you're the one who walks swaggering drunk into my house, and trying to come on to me. D'you really think i didn't see the interest in your eyes? I'm old, not blind. I’m not stupid. Do you good to learn that, Crowley."

He had intentionally drew out Crowley's name, and took pleasure as he watched the other shiver, swallowing.

"I suppose consent doesn't matter much to you?" the demon's voice was uncharacteristically quiet, as Bobby dragged off his trousers and pants.

That was a punch to the gut, and Bobby paused, hands in the waistband of his pants. He wasn't a rapist, and demon or not, the hunter wasn't the type to go where he wasn't welcome. Crowley looked back at him, somewhat pleadingly. Bobby allowed his mind to play again the encounters that he had with Crowley, and decided to go with his instincts.

"Try the other one," he said instead, and pulled down the demon's pants down to his knees.

"Bollocks," Crowley said with feeling, anger quickly replacing the quiet, hurt look he had been adopting to get Bobby to let him go, and turned away.

Shucking off the trousers and pants, Bobby started to work on the buttons, before realizing that the sleeves were not going to come off. Crowley had turned back to look at him, wondering why he had stopped.

“Stay here for a moment,” he said.

“I hope that is you changing your mind,” Crowley said, while Bobby set to searching in his drawers.

“No,” Crowley said in horror a minute later.

“You don’t have no other options, do ya?” Bobby waved the pair of scissors at him. “Stay still and maybe I won’t cut you.”

“You’re trying to ruin my suit!” Crowley kicked at him, but Bobby easily straddled him, humming.

“I am going to ruin your suit,” he affirmed cheerfully, and then slipped the pair of scissors beneath the undoubtedly expensive material, and began to cut. Crowley wriggled and spat curses beneath him, but seeing as both the collar and the cuffs were engraved with the devil’s trap, Bobby wasn’t worried. The demon eventually fell silent and took up glaring at him, about the time when he started on the other sleeve.

“You really didn’t think you can walk in, and out unscathed after everything you did,” Bobby worked the scissors through the cuffs, and then pushed it and the now useless fabric off onto the floor. “Breezing in and out like you own the place.”

He patted Crowley on the cheek, grinning when the demon narrowed his eyes and scowled harder, then sat back to admire his handiwork.

“You’re really something,” Bobby smoothed both hands from Crowley’s shoulders down to his sides firmly, and back up. 

“Glad you approve of my meatsuit,” Crowley drawled, and tried to burn a hole in Bobby’s head with his eyes when the man’s large, rough hands settled on his hips, rubbing up and down his thighs, fingers trailing lightly down his calves.

While Crowley cut a clean line when he was in his suit, out of it, he looked softer around the edges. There was some pudge to him which Bobby grabbed gleefully at, the demon looking extremely displeased, and hissed when the hunter landed a heavy slap on his thigh.

“I like this look on you,” he informs Crowley, digging thumbs into the juncture between the demon’s hips and thighs, and leaned down to brush his whiskers against the creamy skin there. The demon only sniffed disdainfully, hands shifting so the chains clanked against each other. A part of him was extremely pleased at having Crowley this vulnerable and powerless at his disposal, and on impulse he bit down, drawing a surprised shout from above him.

“Squealing already?” Bobby drew back, a hand wrapping around Crowley’s cock—still hard and interested despite of his protests—and gave it a few rough strokes dry. “Bad manners to keep your Majesty waiting, I’m sorry.”

“Do you ever,” Crowley gritted his teeth. “Stop talking?”

Bobby stilled his hand, and looked into Crowley’s eyes searchingly, and something akin to uncertainty flitted through the demon’s dark eyes momentarily, although he did not break the stare. Whatever he saw in Bobby’s face, it made the demon go quiet, his nerves beginning to show through.

“Fine, then. Let’s get on with business.” Bobby got off the bed briskly, and removed his clothes, shoving them away to the side with a foot to join the general mess in his room. He turned back to see the demon watching him, expression uncertain as the hunter now straddled him, naked. He shifted when the bed dipped with his added weight, and kept his eyes resolutely on Bobby’s face, his body tense beneath the hunter’s.

“Open your mouth,” Bobby said, scooting upwards, a hand bracing against the headboard, his cock in his hand, nudging the tip of it against Crowley’s lips. “Mind, if you bite, remember that I can do the same as well. You keep bragging about it, talking about what you can do, what you would do. Go on, let’s see if you’re doing some false advertising.”

Crowley glanced down, then glared up at him, and Bobby drew the tip of his cock across his lips, until the demon reluctantly wrapped his lips around the tip.

Bobby bit down the groan at the warm, wet heat that enveloped him, and remained still, allowing Crowley to experiment with how best to take his cock at his frankly uncomfortable angle, since he was unable to sit up, and could only move his head so much. 

“Best to get it nice and wet,” Bobby said, while Crowley was trying an angle from the side, straining, suckling on his half hard cock, tongue washing it in kitten licks, lips gleaming with spit from his efforts. “Its all you’re getting when I put it up your arse.”

Crowley only responded with a glare, and strained forwards just to get a little bit more of his cock into his mouth, and wasn’t that just gratifying to see the King of Hell work for it? Bobby let him be for a few minutes more, before shuffling up on his knees closer to him, Crowley red around the ears from the strain it put on his neck.

The demon lay back, panting, taking a break, before resuming with renewed vigour, tongue laving over the tip of Bobby’s slowly hardening cock, before wrapping his lips around him, slowly experimenting with exactly how much he could take in his mouth. He could feel the demon’s confidence growing, as Crowley soon found a position that he liked, movements surer and quicker, his tongue tracing patterns on the underside of his length while he sucked. Bobby felt himself slowly grow harder within Crowley’s mouth, and moaned, quietly, pulse quickening with every gentle bob of the demon’s head.

He curled fingers into Crowley’s hair, teasing the demon’s hair into even more of a mess than it already was, surprised to find it so soft, and just because Crowley looked like he was beginning to enjoy it, settling comfortably into the rhythm of the pace he had set up, he yanked on a fistful of it, hard.

That brought Crowley up snarling, and he snapped his teeth threateningly near Bobby’s length when he pulled off of it, lips and chin glistening with spit. “What now?” He growled, his voice guttural and low, pupils blown wide with his own arousal, enraged.

“I got bored of you taking your own sweet time, princess,” Bobby held on tight to the fistful of dark hair, pulling his head back, the demon growling in pain. “Mouth wide, and keep your teeth away where it isn’t wanted.”

Crowley’s expression promised murder in the most inventive and painful way possible that he could come up with, but he did as he was told. Bobby repositioned himself, and slid himself into the demon’s open mouth, to the point where he knew Crowley had been comfortable with, and pushed in further still.

The demon’s hands clenched, choking, his gag reflex kicking in. Bobby held him there for the space of two heartbeats, maybe three, and pulled out. Crowley coughed, and had just enough time to draw in a lungful of air before Bobby pushed in again. 

“Look at you,” Bobby groaned, “Under me, debauched, vulnerable.” He pulled out and rubbed his cock along Crowley’s lips and cheek, painting his skin with precum and spit. Crowley jerked away, and Bobby laughed. 

“Like the sound of your own voice during sex?” Crowley spat out, and coughed, trying to clean his face on the pillow case.

“Better than I do yours,” Bobby mocked, a smirk on his face, and turned him back with a firm hand on his cheek, rubbing the stickiness into the demon’s skin, and guided his mouth back onto him.

This time, he kept a hold on Crowley’s hair to hold him still, and then started to fuck his mouth in earnest, thrusting in as deep as he could go, feeling Crowley spasm beneath him, hands immediately clenching into fists and yanking on hard on the restraints. He could feel the demon’s throat convulse around him, and relished in the small choking noises that Crowley was making, every muscle in the demon’s body tense, heels digging into the mattress. There wasn’t room for Crowley to draw in the air that he needed, and Bobby sank in deep until Crowley’s nose was up against his pubic hair, watching in fascination as the demon struggled for air. The hunter held him there for a few long seconds, before pulling off, allowing the demon to pull in much needed air, coughing, a trail of spit breaking off as Bobby pulled away.

“I think that’s enough for now,” the hunter eased off, patting the top of Crowley’s head and pushing sweat slicked hair back, the demon’s skin hot to the touch. Any more, and he would probably come down Crowley’s throat, and while it was something that he wanted to do, he had other plans in mind.

The demon was silent, swallowing, squirming slightly as Bobby ran hands down his body, gaze drifting away when Bobby caught hold of his legs in a firm grip, and pulled him up snugly against him, tucking a pillow beneath his hips. He shifted his hips slightly at the new uncomfortable position he found himself in, but stilled when he felt the blunt thickness pressing up against him.

Bobby put two fingers into his mouth, sucking and coating them in spit, before reaching down to push Crowley’s thighs apart, arranging him as he saw fit. With the demon’s wide eyes fixed upon him, Bobby pushed a finger into his tight entrance. Crowley sucked in air through his teeth, brow furrowed as Bobby prepared him briskly. Now and then, the demon would clench down on the intruding finger, shuddering, but making an effort to relax, sweat beading on his forehead. It was gritty, and rough. Of course Bobby knew that spit wasn’t going to be enough—not that he was going to admit it, but he had done his own fair bit of research that may or may not include gay pornography before he put all this into action. Without adequate lubrication, it was going to be exceedingly rough and painful on the bottom, causing them injury. Which meant that he wasn’t going to go without lube when he was finally going to fuck Crowley.

It didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to make him beg for it.

When he pushed in the second finger in along with the first, Crowley made a quiet sound of pain, breathing by far too evenly for it to be natural, which prompted Bobby to lean in, spitting onto his fingers before pushing them back in, perfunctory. 

“I- “ The demon started, before falling silent again, trying to regulate the pain, hands clenching and unclenching in an attempt at distraction. Bobby looked up, but did not stop the quick in and out movements of his fingers.

“Something you want to say?” he asked, knowing very well that Crowley had caught sight of the bottle of lubricant he had intentionally left on his night stand. “I’m busy down here, you know? I don’t have all day.”

He watched the demon consider his words, indecisive, before speaking again, twitching when Bobby drove his fingers in a little harder than necessary. “Its not enough.”

“What, my cock isn’t good enough for you?” Bobby taunted, and made his displeasure known by jabbing him with his fingers.

“No,” Crowley hissed, clenching down in pain. It was the first time Bobby heard him this quiet, slightly unsure of himself, voice tremulous. “The lubricant. Its not enough.”

“Its all you’re getting,” Bobby said, as Crowley glanced at the bottle of lube to the side again.

“Spit does a remarkably poor job at lubricating. I’m not a woman.” Crowley swallowed. “It would hurt me.”

“And I care, why?” Bobby tried to get a third finger in, holding Crowley down as he tried to squirm away. Already the spit was drying. “Rock salt rounds seem to hurt you just as well. Complaining is what you do.”

Surprisingly, watching Crowley struggle with his own pride, the hunter felt stab of guilt. Even though he knew that the demon could withstand pain way better than the average human being, it was possible that he felt the pain more intensely when his powers were sealed away, out of his reach where he couldn’t simply heal himself as he wished.

“Please,” Crowley rasped out, and Bobby, despite what he planned and promised himself, caved in and reached for the bottle. 

The lubricant was cold on his fingers, but he made sure to coat his fingers liberally with it, pressing them back into Crowley, movements gentler than before to ensure that he was well lubricated as well, slicking him up patiently. The demon still twitched, but the furrow in his brow was easing, the lubricant helping.

“Thank you,” the demon said, reluctant but relieved, the tension in his shoulders bleeding out. He was no doubt expecting Bobby to take him dry, and for that, Bobby made sure that there was more than enough lubricant, before returning to stretching Crowley slowly.

The difference with the help of the slick was that Crowley didn’t seem to be tensing up as much now, instead more receptive to his touch, shuddering and moaning when Bobby brushed up against a certain spot which might be his prostate. Bobby didn’t manage to hit the spot again, but he still had Crowley limp and panting on his lap, eventually, hips doing little movements on their own accord which Bobby wasn’t certain if Crowley knew he was doing it.

Deeming him more than prepared, judging by the flush in the demon’s cheeks and the way his legs were spreading for him, Bobby poured out more lubricant into his palm, and slicked himself up. And then he held Crowley still, rubbing the tip of himself against the puckered entrance, and slowly pressed himself in.

Crowley moaned, clenching down at the invasion, feeling the stretch and the low burn with every inch Bobby was pressing into him, easing off slightly before going in deeper than before. In an attempt to distract him, Bobby gave his cock a few short tugs as he slowly fucked into the demon’s body, continuing even when he was pressed up flush against Crowley’s buttocks, fully seated.

The demon whined, honest to god whined, shuddering now and then, Bobby thumbing over the slit on his cock, feeling the wetness of precum slick on his fingers. He couldn’t help but bring his thumb to his mouth for a taste, curious. It was bitter, which wasn’t unexpected, and Bobby grimaced, wiping his hand on the bedsheets. He could always wash those later. After a long while, Crowley began to move his hips again, abortively, which was signal enough for Bobby that he could move.

He started off slowly, hands exploring Crowley’s thighs, his chest and stomach, fingers exploring the stretched rim around him where they were joined, before trailing up to thumb over nipples. Crowley didn’t seem to mind the slow pace, his breath catching, occasionally gulping in a mouthful of air and moaning, but otherwise did his level best to bite down on his lip and swallowing back the moans he so dearly wanted to let out.

“Y’ like it, princess?” Bobby teased, his voice rough with desire, and ground against the demon to get the point across, taking pleasure in the way Crowley’s expression slackened with pleasure, lips parting in a soft moan.

“Had better,” Crowley managed after a few long seconds of gathering his wits, the sarcastic tone he was trying for falling short, made breathy by the assault of pleasure.

“Mhm,” Bobby went along with it, keeping it slow and drawn out, not wanting to argue too much when he could watch Crowley try to keep himself together through it. It was—new, but not too strange. Sex was sex, and Bobby thought he could get used to this, given enough time. Tighter, and some mechanics were different, as was the body that was beneath him, but the rest were mostly the same.

“Please,” Crowley croaked, breaking the long established soundtrack of nothing but creaking bedsprings and the wet sounds that accompanied each movement of Bobby’s hips. Sweat was beading on his forehead, and the demon licked his lips, mouth dry.

“And here we have a rare display of manners,” Bobby pretended to be surprised, and Crowley snarled in frustration, before the demon reined himself back with great difficulty, swallowing and squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Always well mannered,” the demon shuddered, but did not open his eyes again. “Please.”

“Please what?” 

“Please… touch my cock,” Crowley was so quiet that Bobby nearly missed his words, humiliating written in his face as he turned his head away. “I can’t come like this.”

“And now you’re starting to understand how I feel, each and every time you’ve waltzed in here merrily with that voice of yours and waltzed out with an excuse about work which, in case you didn’t know, doesn’t really fly.” Bobby flicked at a nipple, and got a surprised yelp in return, chuckling. “There’s an app for that, now.”

“So am I to take this as some sort of revenge?” Crowley’s voice was shaking, and his gaze kept drifting away from Bobby’s, skin feverish to the touch. “Some kind of, payback. Some clumsy sex this is, sea slugs could have done better- “

“I’d like to see you have sex with sea slugs.” Bobby chuckled as he retorted, then hefted Crowley up by the arse and pushing his legs over his shoulders, and picked up a brutally hard and fast pace while holding the demon down.

Crowley’s eyes widened, and tried to twist away to no avail, before the cries and moans that he had been holding back poured forth. Bobby held him down firmly, and simply took, rougher and harder than he would have done were his partner a woman, or more likely, human. The room was filled with the slapping sounds of bare skin, mixed with the loud jangling of metal and chains and the begging Crowley was now doing on top of the moaning and swearing. It was when the demon emitted a choking sob did Bobby realise that he was close, grip hard enough to bruise on the demon’s hips.

He kept up the punishing pace, sweating and grunting, until he came, spilling into the demon’s hot, receptive body, Crowley whimpering as he felt the human tense and shake, his cock still hard, and a rather angry red colour, neglected and painful from the building pressure.

It took a few minutes for Bobby to catch his breath, before pulling out, his now flaccid cock slipping out easily from the demon’s arse with the lube and semen. Crowley sniffed, looking suspiciously like he was crying, not that demons actually did so, and coughed.

Then he said contemptuously, “Is that it? The grand finale? Rather disappointing, if you ask me.”

The hunter only snorted, then reached between the demon’s legs, and jerked him off in a couple quick motions that had Crowley arching and coming with a strangled cry over his own belly. "There's your sodding grand finale." He found his hand covered in spunk, and cleaned it off on the sheets, but not before smearing some of it over Crowley’s lips and cheeks, to the demon’s disgust.

“Oh, a simply stunning performance. Now that I have endured your extremely clumsy attempts at fornication, and that you have exacted your revenge, is it safe to assume that I am free to go?” For someone who still has semen leaking out of his arse, and his own spunk on his face and hair (Bobby knew it was pain to get it out, which was the primary reason why he did it), Crowley sounded once again in charge of himself, and jangled the chains.

Instead, Bobby got off the bed, with a few quiet clinking sounds and returned with a glass of water, which he held to Crowley’s lips after releasing his hands from their chained position above his head, though he left the leash to the collar there. “Drink,” he ordered.

Crowley glared at him, massaging his wrists, blood congealing where the metal cuffs had cut into his skin during his struggles, but drank obediently, not easing up until half the glass was gone.

“You should probably stay the night,” Bobby said, halfway through cleaning up the mess between Crowley’s legs and his stomach with a warm wet towel, to which the demon hissed incredulously.

“What?”

“None of my potential dates ever get to sneak out of bed immediately after,” Bobby replied calmly, lifting Crowley’s chin by a hand and wiping his face carefully of the semen that was drying and flaking off on his skin. “I don’t do one night stands.”

“You- “

“If you wanted to, you could have asked, instead. But why spare us the fun?” Bobby turned his face from side to side, and let him go when he was satisfied that Crowley was clean enough. “Instead of doing all that, before. You get really smashed when you’re drunk, did you know that?”

Crowley watched him through slitted eyes for a long moment. “It doesn’t excuse you from the poor sex that you have just demonstrated.”

“I don’t make a habit out of sleeping with men,” Bobby got into the bed and pulled cleaner sheets up over the both of them.

“I’ll have to give you lessons,” the demon said from beside him.

“Fine,” Bobby agreed easily, pulling the demon closer against him. The stickiness of his skin was uncomfortable, but not unwelcome, and he placed a chaste kiss on Crowley’s bare shoulder, whiskers rasping against skin.

“And if this is going to be a permanent arrangement,” the demon said carefully, shifting. “How about taking these off for starters?”

Bobby considered. “No,” he said, and grinned at Crowley’s expression of outrage. “This is for you being an idjit. Sides, as you’ve said, I’m a hunter, and you’re a demon. I still don’t trust you this much in my bed, yet.”

“Yet.”

“And,” he leaned over to kiss the corner of Crowley’s lips, tasting salt and bitterness on his tongue. “It is a good look on you.” He tugged on the collar around Crowley’s neck, and watched the demon swallow.

“I’ll indulge you just this once, then,” the demon finally acquiesced, and settled in for the night while the hunter sleeps, satisfied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's my confession. I've actually never watched Supernatural but I'm in love with Crowley as a character. I'll probably write a little others more if I can. I blame Gorlassar for this what have you done to me?
> 
> *Need Season 10*

**Author's Note:**

> Why am I sinking into this
> 
> Kush informercial:  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OyCrRrw-rc4


End file.
